


We Were Made Out of Lightning

by starvinbohemian



Category: Days of Our Lives
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memory Loss, Sharing a Bed, shameless what if?, since canon decided not to go there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-19 10:35:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9436424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starvinbohemian/pseuds/starvinbohemian
Summary: Prompt: What if Sonny had woken up after his surgery with no memory of Will and thinking he was still together with Paul?





	

        Sonny once asked him if he regretted any of the choices he’d made.

        At the time, the answer was no. What was there to regret? He had everything he wanted: fame, money, baseball, love. He knew Sonny was only teasing him— calling him out for being too arrogant as he was wont to do.

        (It was hard to take Sonny seriously about that when Paul knew good and well that Sonny loved his confidence. Always had.)

        That was a long time ago. And maybe he should have taken Sonny more seriously, because, in a way, that arrogance had ended up costing Paul everything.

        Still, as Paul sank, bone-weary, onto the edge of his bed, he found himself wishing he still had that overconfidence today. Even after a lengthy shower, some restless pacing, and a frustrated shedding of his clothes, Paul only found himself in the same place, just an hour later: anxious and too exhausted to stop his mind from playing it all back in a vivid, Technicolor loop.

         _“No, don’t touch me! Paul,_ tell _them!”_

        His hands were shaking. He dropped his face into his palms.

        He thought he'd already faced the hardest day of his life when he came out to his mother and grandfather. That was before he had to help hold Sonny down on a hospital bed to stop him from tearing out vital IVs in his panic from learning that he'd lost three years' worth of memories. Three years of his life.

        And Mrs. Kiriakis, she'd said…

         _She met his gaze over Sonny’s head, and for a second, the rest of the noise in the room had muted for him. He knew just from the look in her eyes alone that she had mentally done the math, too. Three years. Meaning… “Oh, no,” she breathed._

         _Oh, no._

        When Paul had gone to the hospital earlier that day, he'd thought... he couldn’t remember what he thought. He was too tired now to think, but probably he thought that if he went to the hospital and pleaded his case to Sonny just _once more_ , that if he could have made Sonny see the role that fate had played in their lives… it could have changed everything.

        Paul’s donated blood saved Sonny's life, just four years after Sonny had made Paul's worth living. That couldn’t just be coincidence, especially when Paul hadn’t even known it was for Sonny. If he had been out of the room or somehow missed the call, then it would have been the end of everything— the margin for error had been that slim. If that wasn't fate, then what was?

        (If there was such a thing as fate, then it was laughing at him now.)

        No one could blame him for needing to make sure that Sonny was all right, no matter what Mrs. Kiriakis or anyone else said. He had a right. So, he went.

        When he’d arrived, Sonny was asleep.

         _His cheek felt soft beneath Paul’s fingers. Paul couldn't help himself, not with Sonny looking so delicate and vulnerable in that hospital bed and with his own head still woozy from the blood transfusion and years of pent-up longing. Just a touch. Barely there._

         _He nearly jumped a mile when Sonny suddenly caught his wrist, and his breath caught as Sonny slowly blinked open his eyes. "Paul?"_

         _Before he could rush to defend his presence— he knew the risk he was running by being there, Mrs. Kiriakis had made sure of that— Sonny gave him a soft smile and said, “Hey.”_

         _Hey. As if he hadn't nearly died._

         _"I tried to wait up for you," Sonny said dreamily, still half-asleep, "but you took too long."_

         _"I did?" He thought that maybe Sonny was still woozy from the anesthesia. Still, his eyes were sparkling at him in a way that Paul hadn't seen in a very long time. Hope flared in his chest._

         _And with the way Sonny was looking at him... Paul wondered if maybe he didn't have to explain anything at all. Derrick the bellhop had said that Sonny seemed jealous when he heard that Paul had been with someone. It had seemed too good to be true, but— God— Paul_ wanted _it to be true._

         _"I missed you," Sonny said._

         _And just like that, Paul felt heat pool behind his eyes. He squeezed Sonny's hand and laughed with surprised delight when Sonny placed an answering kiss on the back of his fingers._

         _After all the back and forth… Derrick had been right._ Paul _had been right to stay and fight for this— for them. The sense of vindication was overwhelming. Not to mention the incredible relief that this could finally be happening for them._

         _And all of it made even better when Sonny brought Paul’s hand to his cheek and said, “Love you.” Still a little hazy, a little sleepily._

         _He’d said it so easily though. A gift worth more than anything else Paul could have possibly wished for, offered when least expected._

         _With his heart about ready to overflow with joy and about a thousand other synonyms for the same feeling, Paul said— sincerely and without a hint of shame or guilt— "I love you, too, Sonny."_

         _Then, Will walked through the door._

         _And all hell broke loose._

        Paul's head shot up at a gentle knock on his door.

        He stared in bewilderment, unsure if he had imagined it, until a second knock occurred.

        He stood warily. Following on the heels of his previous train of thought, he immediately assumed that it was Will, come to finish the fight they'd started in the hospital lobby. 

         _"You knew, didn't you? You knew who I was the whole time?"_

        No. Paul hadn't known. 

        The answer came from seeing Will walk into Sonny's room as if he belonged there, and from seeing his horrified expression at finding Paul at Sonny's bedside. 

        And Sonny had looked at Will with a polite, if blank, expression and said, "Yes? Can I help you?" As if Will had just wandered into the wrong room. If only that had been the case.

         _"How could you not know?"_

        It turned out that there were many things that Paul didn’t know. For instance, he didn't know that Sonny would wake up after his surgery without his memory of the past three years. Or that Sonny wouldn't know that they had ever broken up, let alone that he was married to someone else.

        The small room had quickly filled with people, all in similar states of shock at Sonny's condition and most with no idea who Paul even was. As Paul was to discover, Sonny had a lot of very loud, very forceful relatives.

        Sonny panicked. Who could blame him? Paul panicked, too.

        Just as Paul decided to ignore the knocking, he heard a familiar voice call his name through the door. He froze.

         _He wouldn't_.

        “Paul?”

        Instantly forgetting his hesitation, Paul lunged for the door, only to remember at the last second that he was naked. He nearly knocked himself out in his haste to pull on a pair of pajama pants before throwing open the door.

        Paul stared in frank shock at the man on the other side.

        (Apparently, Sonny would and he had.)

        Sonny's awkward smile grew more uncertain as several seconds passed before Paul could force the words passed his lips. 

        "What are you _doing_ here?" he exploded.

        "I..."

        "You're supposed to be in the hospital!" He frantically looked Sonny over, half-expecting to find blood— Paul's donated blood— trailing down his body and onto the floor.

        Back in his regular clothes, Sonny did a solid imitation of a well man. Maybe a bit pale and tired-looking, but ultimately whole. The bandage on Paul's arm and the reality of a night-long surgery told a different story though.

        Yet, here he was. And, in Paul's opinion, not looking nearly as sheepish as he deserved to be.

        "How did you even find my room?" 

        A discreet cough from behind Sonny made Paul realize that they weren't alone. He widened the door to see Derrick, who at least did look somewhat embarrassed.

        Derrick sort of shrugged at Paul. "I ran into him in the lobby. He was confused and… I kind of owed him."

        Sonny, who thankfully had no idea of how much Derrick truly did owe him, simply thanked him before pushing passed Paul and into the room.

        Paul spared Derrick a glare that he hoped conveyed the depths of his displeasure with him before closing the door on him entirely. He was going to kill that bellhop. An amnesiac wanders through the lobby, and Derrick didn’t think to call someone?

        He turned to Sonny in dismay. "What are you doing here?" he asked again.

        "I had to find you."

        “I told you I would be back in the morning. You didn’t believe me?” He’d wanted to stay longer, but between Will and the relatives, it hadn’t been possible. Sonny was stressed enough, and Will was clearly seconds away from losing it in front of everyone. Better to have it out with him in private than in front of Sonny, or so Paul had thought.

         _“Was that the plan all along? Seduce me, so Sonny would leave me? And then you could have him all to yourself?”_

        Sonny visibly winced as he lowered himself onto the edge of Paul’s bed. He was obviously trying to hold it back, but a small, pained whimper had Paul rushing to his side. He dropped to his knees before Sonny. "Hey, careful!" His hands hovered uselessly before him, unsure of where to go.

        "I'm fine," Sonny said, waving off his concern.

        "You are _not_ fine. You were _stabbed_." It hurt to even say the words, let alone envision it happening. "You're supposed to be in the hospital, where there are doctors and nurses and—" He paused, realizing something. "How did you even get out? Why didn't anyone stop you?"

        Now, Sonny looked appropriately sheepish, and Paul said, flatly, "You escaped."

        "I escaped," Sonny agreed.

        Paul couldn't withhold his anger as a sense of helplessness seized him. Leaving the hospital was such a reckless and foolish thing to do. He had nearly _died_. There was no conceivable reason for why Sonny had to come to the hotel. Paul hoped to God that Sonny had at least taken a cab, rather than walk all the way over to the Salem Inn. At night. Through the park. _Again_. "I can't believe you did this,” he fumed. “You—"

        Sonny lifted his head, and Paul’s voice immediately trailed off at the look on his face. In Sonny’s expression, Paul saw all of his helpless despair reflected back at him. The sight tugged at him, like a puppet on strings.

        The urge to comfort overtook his frustration. He reached out and gently cupped Sonny's face in his hands. With his thumbs, he gently stroked along Sonny's cheekbones as he used to do when Sonny was upset. 

        "Hey," he said softly. "What's wrong?" As if he didn’t already know.

        Sonny took a shaky breath and gripped Paul's wrists in his hands. "I need you to explain it to me again."

        It had been chaos in the hospital room, between Will and Paul, Sonny's mother and the doctors, and various other people simultaneously attempting to comfort and question Sonny about his memory loss. Paul couldn't fill in the blanks Sonny wanted with an audience around them, and Sonny had stared at Will with the expected fear and bafflement one would experience from being told you were married to a complete stranger.

        Sonny's great-uncle, Victor— an imposing figure that made Paul instinctively stand straighter— had finally ordered everyone out except for himself, Paul, and Will.

        Paul was distantly aware that people were bound to connect the dots between Will's article and his unexplained presence in Sonny's hospital room, but he was too wound up with anxiety about other things to really think about that at the moment.

        (He was more afraid of _Sonny_ connecting certain dots than anything else.)

        "I tried to ask them but… everyone is walking on eggshells around me," Sonny said. "They were so afraid I would freak out that it was just making me freak out more."

        "Maybe that's why they're on eggshells." His joke fell flat, and neither of them smiled.

        Sonny shook his head. "I just don’t understand."

        "I know," Paul said sadly. He couldn't imagine what it must have been like to suddenly wake up and find years of your life missing. "But everyone loves you, and you have to trust that they're there to help you."

         _I want to help you_ , he didn't say. He hoped that it went without saying.

        “Everyone?”

        Paul reluctantly released Sonny's face from his hands, recognizing the impropriety of their position. There was a time in the not so distant past when he had wanted to be alone with Sonny in a hotel room, but he didn’t want it like this. He had no right to take advantage of an amnesiac man. He wouldn't.

        Paul did his best to sound firm. "Sonny, you have to go back to the hospital."

        He had to call someone. Anyone. Maybe not 911, but at least Sonny's mother? Paul still had her number in his phone from when she had promised to update him on Sonny's condition. She was bound to notice that her injured son wasn't where she had left him. She would be worried, just as Paul knew his own mother would be.

        Paul tried to stand, but Sonny caught his arm at the last second. His eyes pleaded with Paul. "No."

        Paul dropped his weight back onto his knees with an exasperated sigh. "Why not?"

        Sonny looked away from him, his fingers curling tighter around Paul's arm. "I'll go back tomorrow."

        Paul tried to keep his patience, but it was hard when he didn't understand where Sonny's reticence was coming from. He was hurt, and he needed to return to the hospital. Plain and simple. "I don't understand," he said.

        Sonny hesitated, before saying, "I can't sleep there."

        Paul stared, waiting for more. When it didn’t come, he asked, "Why not?"

        It seemed straightforward to him, the imperative of the situation obviously outweighing whatever excuse Sonny could offer. But Sonny's next words, spoken quietly and with some embarrassment, took the breath from him.

        "I can't sleep without you next to me."

        Paul bit his lip. He knew that. Well, he remembered that was the case three years ago. Sonny would always wait up for him, no matter how late Paul came in. Paul had adapted surprisingly quickly to having someone beside him every night.

        (And it took him months to get used to sleeping alone again after Sonny had gone.)

        He suddenly couldn't bear to remind Sonny that he'd been sleeping just fine without Paul for over three years. But he didn't know what else to say either. A lump had settled in his throat.

        Sonny saved him from having to speak. "Can I sleep here tonight? Just for tonight? And then I'll go back to the hospital in the morning?"

        Paul knew he should insist. A stronger man might have, but in the end, Paul could only nod helplessly, giving in. Sonny needed to rest. If he couldn't get that in the hospital, then he would get it here, with Paul. In compromise, he told himself that he would call Sonny's mother as soon as Sonny fell asleep. She was the only one who would understand why Sonny was there.

        Well, her, Will, and now possibly Victor Kiriakis, who strangely seemed to know exactly who Paul was to Sonny without any explanation.

        (Paul didn't especially want to think of them now.)

        Sonny didn't have any pajamas with him. Paul's clothes would all hang loose on him, but that was probably best, considering Sonny's injury.

        Sonny undressed gingerly, each movement looking as if it took great effort. It took everything in him to merely stand by without moving to help. Paul didn't mean to stare, but he must have been, because their eyes met suddenly as Sonny's shirt slipped off his shoulder, and they both froze.

        It had been more than three years since they had undressed in the same room. And mere hours since Paul had more or less begged Sonny for another chance. 

        Looking back at Paul, Sonny's eyes widened, likely sensing where Paul's mind had gone. His gaze slipped down to Paul’s bare chest.

        Paul turned away, hating himself a little for the hungry spark he felt, even now, low in his gut. He shuddered, feeling Sonny's gaze on his back like actual fingers on his skin.

         _You're better than this,_ he reminded himself. He got some relief once the lights were out, as if the darkness could shield them from imaginary eyes.

        Once Sonny was settled, Paul hesitantly joined him in the bed. He laid, stiff and tense, hyper-aware of their bodies in the suddenly small-seeming bed. He rolled onto his side, both to conserve space as well as to watch Sonny for further signs of discomfort, telling himself that even just one more wince or grimace would mean immediate return to the hospital, no matter what Sonny said.

        Sonny rolled over to mirror him, and in the low-light, they regarded one another. It was hard to wrap his brain around this— Sonny being in bed with him, wearing his shirt, and still looking at him just as he used to before everything was taken away. (Again.)

        Paul frowned, unable to resist reaching out to brush some hair from Sonny's forehead. When he thought of how close they all came to losing him... 

        Who could have done this? Who could have so little regard for such an extraordinary person? A beautiful, kind person. The _best_ person. Paul’s favorite person, who managed to be, for Paul, akin to a cool breeze on a hot day or a safe place in the dark. Mugged, stabbed, and left for dead in the park like so much trash. What would Paul have done if...?

        Sonny caught Paul's hand in his and held it against his cheek. His eyes shined at Paul in the darkness. "Thank you for letting me stay."

        "Well. You needed to rest. So." The logic sounded less solid once it was out of his mouth, but it was rapidly ceasing to matter to him. His mind was now filled with horrible visions of Sonny's ordeal, of Sonny lying alone and helpless and cold on the ground. The thoughts filled him with rage, and he unintentionally squeezed Sonny's fingers too tightly in his strong grip.

        It had been such a long day. Looking at Sonny now, at the end of it, made all the emotions of the day threaten to rise out of the dark place where Paul had tried to suppress them. It was too much, between all the ugliness and that old familiar ache. And the idea that Sonny had almost checked out on him…

        His voice sounded rough as sandpaper as he choked out, "Come here.”

        Paul didn’t even care that it felt like a surrender. Sonny was here and _alive_ and Paul just needed to hold him.

        Sonny didn't wait to be asked twice. He moved into Paul's arms as if he had simply been waiting for permission to do so, invading what little space Paul had tried to leave between them.

        He wrapped his arms around Sonny and held him as close and as tight against his body as he could. Sonny was warm and solid in his arms, and Paul sent a silent prayer to whatever higher power there was out there that had spared him.

        For several serene moments, they laid there together, with Sonny safely tucked up in Paul's arms and his cheek resting above Paul's heart. Paul allowed himself to breathe Sonny in, his nose pressed into Sonny's hair. He even smelled the same as Paul remembered.

         _God, I've missed you._

        They went so long in comfortable silence that Paul eventually assumed that Sonny had fallen asleep. He still didn’t move. He was content just to hold him like this. He’d lied to himself earlier when he thought that he would call someone to come and retrieve Sonny. It was perhaps selfish of him, but everyone else was just going to have to wait. Just for a little bit longer.

        Then, he felt Sonny sigh against his chest. "Tell me how we got here," he whispered to Paul.

        It was such a loaded question that Paul didn't even know where to begin. Before he had time to formulate some kind of diplomatic explanation— _"I was selfish, you were impatient, and it was the worst mistake of my life"_ — Sonny pulled back to a safer distance so they were lying face-to-face. Paul reluctantly let him go, though their hands somehow ended up tangled between them.

        "Paul, why did I marry Will?"

         _And not you?_

        He swallowed nervously. "I..." 

        "It just doesn't make any sense," Sonny continued. "The last thing I remember is being with you in Rome. We were _fine_. Better than fine. We were—"

        About to be engaged. At least, that's what Sonny would think. Paul's heart sank.

        No longer able to hold Sonny's probing stare, Paul gently untangled their hands. "We weren't," he corrected gently.

        (It was the first time he had ever admitted that, even to himself.)

        Paul didn't know it was possible, but his heart broke a little further at the way Sonny's face fell at his words. Unfortunately, he didn't know how else to explain but with the truth. 

        “What do you mean?” Sonny asked.

        "We pretended we were fine, but we wanted different things. You wanted a home and a picket fence and to be out to the whole world. I didn't. I wanted to stay closeted, so I could have it all. Baseball. You. All the fame without any of the compromise."

        He didn’t remember, but Sonny had accused him of as much. More than once actually. Paul didn’t like to remember that stuff. He preferred to remember the better times.

        (Sonny had accused him of selective memory, too.)

        No longer looking at him, Sonny carefully propped himself up. It was a lot to take in, Paul knew. He had to clench the bed sheets to keep from reaching out and pulling Sonny back into his arms. No doubt he was upset with Paul. He had a right to be. More than he knew.

        Paul hastily pushed the thought away. Sonny could never, ever find out about that. Not ever.

        Looking down at his lap, Sonny finally said, "I left, didn't I?"

        “You did.” It hurt that Sonny instinctively knew that. He had always wondered whether Sonny had originally intended for the proposal to be an ultimatum or if it had only just become one in the heat of the moment. He hated the idea that Sonny had been unhappy with their arrangement all along and Paul was just too selfish to notice.

        As for the proposal itself, Sonny didn't seem to remember it, and Paul wasn't going to bring it up. Let him think that they had naturally fallen apart before they got that far. For the moment, that was kinder. To both of them.

        "And then I fell in love with Will?"

        “You…” Paul rubbed tiredly at his eyes. "Sonny... I'm sorry, but I can't talk about Will with you." _Or about you and Will._

        "Why?"

         _Will's face had drained of all color as realization hit him, and Paul knew he looked much the same._

        The memory made him shudder.

        "Because I'm not the one you should be talking to about that,” he said, evasive. “Didn't Will explain?"

        Of course he had, but it must have been like hearing a story about someone else. Without the memories, the explanations were just empty words. Sonny's frustrated expression told him as much.

        "Paul, I don't _know_ him. I mean, I think we met before when we were kids, but…"

        Paul sat up with a sigh. "I know it seems like that, but you do know him. You... love him." It hurt to say as much, but it was the truth. At least, it was the truth as Sonny had led him to believe it.

        Sonny shook his head, stubborn. "It doesn't feel like that. Not to me."

        "I know." Paul didn't know how else to respond, but his response seemed to finally push Sonny from confusion into anger.

        "You don't," Sonny snapped. "You have no idea what this feels like."

        Paul winced.

        Yet, as quickly as it had come, Sonny's anger seemed to dissipate, and he gave Paul a mournful look. "It doesn't make sense to me, Paul. We broke up? I can’t imagine my life without you.”

        Paul had to brace himself against the flood of emotions that threatened to spill forth. He closed his eyes and hoped Sonny wouldn’t notice in the dark.

        “If this is real—”

        “It’s real, Sonny,” he whispered.

        “If we broke up, and I married someone else, then what are you doing here?"

        It was a fair question. Sonny had left him in Rome. Before that, they bounced between Paul's home in San Francisco and the cities his baseball career had dictated for them. They never visited Salem. As far as Paul remembered, back then, Sonny hadn't even been to Salem himself in years. So, why would they both be there now?

        "I came for surgery," he said. That explanation was simple enough. "For my—"

        "Your shoulder," Sonny finished for him, just as he had when they had a similar conversation some months back.

        “Right.” Paul shivered when Sonny's hand found his bicep, soothing over his skin. “Dr. Jonas was said to be the best surgeon.”

         _He saved you last night,_ he thought.

        When Paul didn't elaborate, Sonny prompted, "And?"

        Yes, _and_? Paul struggled to find the right words, and the longer he took, the more suspicious Sonny looked. He finally settled on: "I stayed for my physical therapy. You and I... we're friends now."

        The incredulous look Sonny gave him was nothing short of comical, though Paul couldn't bring himself to crack a smile. "Friends?" he repeated dully. "We're just friends?"

        "Yes," Paul said, though it sounded absurd to him, too.

        Still watching Paul, Sonny said, "I have a daughter. Did you know that?"

        "Yeah," he said. He wouldn’t admit that he had forgotten that small detail, but in truth, he had. Somewhere, there was a kid that was depending on Sonny to regain his memory and come home to her. Guilt nudged at him. He should have taken Sonny back to the hospital.

        "I didn't know," Sonny said. "I can't remember her at all. Will said he’s going to bring her to see me tomorrow. What if I still can't remember her? How will that make her feel?"

        "Well, I think she's still a baby, so—" 

        He realized his mistake only a second before Sonny cut him off with a glare. "You think? So, you've never met her? We're friends, but you've never met my daughter?"

        Paul winced, caught. "No," he admitted. "I haven't."

        Sonny's eyes narrowed. "When I woke up, you were stroking my face. You were looking at me like—"

        He gave Sonny a pleading look. "Sonny, this isn't good for you.”

        His response was sharp. “Not remembering things from my own life isn’t good for me.”

        This was typical, Paul recalled. Always right and never willing to compromise, Sonny never let Paul off the hook. Ever. Not unless Paul managed to distract him somehow. Sometimes, it had been the only way out of an argument without conceding defeat. They could both be so stubborn. But Paul couldn’t “distract” Sonny the way he used to. Not tonight anyway.

        “You're getting yourself worked up,” he said. “You need to rest."

        Paul held out his arms. Sonny hesitated— no doubt mentally weighing out how much he wanted to continue probing versus how much he wanted to be held by Paul— so he added, "Please?"

        His words seemed to work a spell, because Sonny visibly deflated, suddenly looking even more tired than he had before. He allowed Paul to— _carefully_ — pull him back down to the bed. 

        "This conversation isn't over," he said grumpily against Paul's shoulder.

        "We'll talk tomorrow," Paul said, conciliatory. Though, he wasn’t really sure they would. After this, Sonny’s family would probably make it a point to keep Paul as far away from him as possible. He couldn’t really blame them. They didn’t know him and therefore had zero reason to trust him with Sonny. Hell, if Paul had been in Will’s shoes, and Sonny had lost his memory while they were together and thought himself still in love with some ex, Paul probably would have hid Sonny away on the far side of the planet. Paul wasn’t sure that any man could be trusted to remain noble with Sonny. Himself included.

        But if he thought that Sonny was going to be put off so easily, he was fooling himself. He had all of a minute to appreciate the quiet before Sonny turned the tables on him.

        Breaking both the silence and Paul’s hope for a ceasefire, he said, "We’re not friends, Paul."

        “Why do you say that?”

        As always, Sonny’s answer was honest to the point of bluntness. “Because you still love me.”

        He stiffened. “Sonny…” _Please, don’t do this to me._

        “I can see it.” Sonny placed his hand over Paul’s racing heart. “I can still _feel_ it.”

        Paul looked away, pained. For all that he had spent years perfecting a false persona, he could never hide how he felt about Sonny. It was written all over him. Always had been. It was one of the reasons he had been too afraid to bring Sonny around his friends and family, even under the guise of just being his “friend.” No one could have spent more than a few minutes with them without realizing. He couldn’t risk it.

        Unprepared, Paul stiffened at the sudden press of Sonny's lips against his neck. He managed to say all of "what" before the word turned into a whimper. 

        "There's something you're not telling me." The words were spoken directly against his skin, Sonny's lips sending an illicit thrill down Paul's spine. Then, the subtle press of lips became an outright kiss— gentle, and soon followed by another. He gripped Sonny's shoulder. "You..."

        Sonny's hand stroked up Paul's stomach, earning him another shiver. "And I think I know what it is."

        That stopped him cold as Will's face suddenly flashed before his eyes. _No_. 

        Sonny cupped his jaw and brought Paul’s face down so that they were eye-to-eye again. "Are we having an affair, Paul?"

         _Oh_. Paul nearly burst into a hysterical giggle. A little delirious in his relief, he tried to summon his most rakish smile. "No, but not for my lack of trying." He was joking, but also, well, _not_.

        Sonny's lips quirked as if he weren't sure if he was supposed to smile. "But there is something you're not telling me."

        Never had he regretted more that he and Sonny were unable to convincingly lie to each other. "There's not," he said, the lie sounding weak even to him.

        Sonny sighed and leaned in so their foreheads pressed together. "Tell me," he murmured. His fingers were still stroking up and down Paul’s stomach in maddeningly light brushes.

        The pleading look in Sonny's sweet brown eyes nearly made him crack. He’d never been able to stand seeing Sonny unhappy. But telling him the truth would only make him more unhappy. Worse, it would make him hate Paul. The thought was unbearable. 

        Miserable, he said, "I can't."

        "Then show me."

        The kiss, when it came, was soft, a gentle press of lips against his, but it hit Paul with the force of a truck, stealing the breath from him. Sonny kissed him again and again, a little faster, a little firmer each time, until Paul's head was spinning too fast for him to even realize that he was kissing back.

        Paul caught Sonny’s face in his hands on impulse, his fingers sliding up into Sonny’s dark hair. Without really meaning to, he had taken control of the kiss, and it became deep and hot and slow, like molasses sliding on his tongue.

        Oh, _God_.

        Paul moaned into Sonny's mouth. He couldn't help it. And it was a mistake, because Sonny seized on his weakness, taking it for the surrender it was. 

        Which might have been Sonny's goal all along, if judging by the way he broke away from the kiss in order to zero in on the sensitive spot just below his ear that he knew made Paul crazy. The amnesia didn't take that memory. The hot slide of that slick tongue along his pulse earned Sonny another whimper, which Sonny claimed in another kiss.

        He wrapped his arms around Paul's neck, pulling him in tighter, locking him in. His tongue was in Paul's mouth, and Paul could feel Sonny's arousal pressed against his stomach. In between kisses, Sonny said, "You don't love me anymore? You don't want me, Paul?"

        Sonny could have been mocking him, for all the needy desperation Paul heard in the words, because there was nothing and no one that Paul had ever wanted more. The evidence was right there, hardening against Sonny's leg. He’d waited _years_ for this, to have Sonny back where he belonged— in Paul's bed.

        He remembered the first time they did this, that fateful night on a San Francisco rooftop... Sonny's breathless laugh as Paul fucked him, high above a million shining lights and Sonny's smile brighter than all of them, somehow making the situation feel intimate and special rather than tawdry. It had never been tawdry. Until now.

         _Sonny, baby, I'm so sorry._

        But guilt was a new concept to him, and Paul had never been good at denying himself what he wanted. He never had to be, before. And to push Sonny away now would require Herculean effort. Sonny's skin was fever warm beneath his hands, and Paul ran his hands over every part he could reach, greedy for more.

        "Tell me, Paul," Sonny gasped as Paul grabbed for his ass, his fists clutching handfuls of borrowed sweatpants to haul him in closer. "Tell me you still love me. Tell me..."

        Was that really still a question?

        "I love you, Sonny," he said into Sonny's throat, his collarbone, his chest. Each confession marked with a searing kiss. "I love you. I want you. Only you."

        Sonny reached down to cup Paul's erection through his pajama pants. "And you wouldn't lie to me?"

        Oh, _clever_. Paul hid his smile against Sonny's throat even as he bucked into Sonny's hand. 

        Did Will know this Sonny, or did he only belong to Paul? The one who would play dirty to get what he wanted, while still making the blatant manipulation so pleasurable that the victim— that being Paul— couldn't even complain? How many arguments had Sonny won back in the day, because he knew just the right ways to twist and tempt? Actually, now that he thought about it, had there ever been a clear winner or loser when they settled arguments this way?

        Paul scrambled to lose his pajama pants so Sonny could get his hands around actual flesh. "I wouldn't lie to you."

        His teeth scraped at Paul’s jaw. “Because you love me?” 

        “Because I love you.”

        Overcome with lust and longing, Paul hooked Sonny's leg over his hip, intending to roll them over so he could properly hump Sonny straight through the mattress. He pulled roughly at Sonny’s pants, needing them out of the way _now_.

        Only for Sonny to cry out in pain.

        Like a douse of icy water over them, it brought everything to a screeching halt.

        Sonny couldn't hide his wince, and Paul dropped his leg as if it had burned him. Horrified, he stared down at Sonny's face before rolling away, putting as much distance as he could between them on the small bed. "I didn't mean to—“ What? He didn’t mean to _what_? “I'm sorry," he gasped.

        "It's fine," Sonny tried, reaching for him. "Paul, it's _fine_."

        But it wasn't. The reminder of Sonny's injury had brought Paul back to his senses. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyelids until he saw stars. He needed his mind to clear. This was what Sonny did to him: robbed him of his senses and made him into some kind of animal.

        Sonny's voice was quiet. "Paul?" His face was flushed, his hair tousled, his lips swollen from Paul's kisses, and it was all Paul could do to keep himself from pouncing. 

        "We can't," he said. " _I_ can't."

        He could justify it to himself, after, but no matter what Paul told himself, this wouldn't be right. Not like this. Not when Sonny couldn't remember. Not with this _thing_ hanging over them.

        How was Sonny ever going to forgive him?

        As Paul struggled to get himself under control, Sonny grew quiet, his thoughts for once a mystery to Paul. 

        He wasn't expecting it when Sonny abruptly leaned down and placed a bruising kiss on his mouth. It scattered his thoughts to the winds, leaving him both blank and breathless.

        Then, Sonny left him there on the bed, bewildered and bewitched. He straightened his clothes in sullen silence. The sight filled Paul with anxiety. He already hated having Sonny so far away from him.

        Paul pleaded with him. “Sonny, it wouldn’t be right. You know it wouldn’t. You’re…” He should have said “married,” but what he actually meant was “amnesiac.” What he settled on was, “…yourself.”

        Sonny had his mouth set in a firm line when he looked back at Paul. “Since when have you cared about what’s right?”

        Ouch. Okay, Sonny didn’t mean that. He was just angry and probably a little hurt at Paul’s rejection.

        (Or maybe he meant exactly what he said.)

        Sonny sighed. "Paul, I know you…”

        “You do,” he said, maybe a tad desperately.

        “…and I know when you're hiding something from me."

        Paul pulled the blankets over himself, suddenly cold. "You're going to remember," he said sadly, "and then I promise that everything will make sense again." _And hopefully you won't hate me._

        The memory loss was temporary. That’s what the doctors had said. For better or worse, Paul’s love for Sonny was not. But they would deal with that when Sonny was back on equal footing with him and no longer at a disadvantage. Sonny _would_ remember.

        "Maybe," Sonny conceded, after a moment. His eyes searched Paul’s. "But do you really want me to?"

        Honest to the point of bluntness.

        Paul couldn't lie to Sonny. It was hard enough just lying to himself. All he could do was lie there, aching and hard and so very, very sorry.

        Sonny handed him his phone from the nightstand. His expression was unreadable. "Go ahead."

        Paul called the hospital.

 

 

  
_Finis_.

**Author's Note:**

> Named for the song "We Were Made Out of Lightning" by Right Away, Great Captain!, a song I had on a constant loop while writing this and a great Paulson song set during those angsty pre-Paris days.


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